


Whole Lotta Love

by oliverwalsh



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: M/M, also trigger warning for some intense misgendering, an alternative universe that is just pure and good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2018-05-04 09:30:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5329190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliverwalsh/pseuds/oliverwalsh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor and Oliver decides to expand their family by one, or maybe even two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Parents?

It starts with a joke. Just a simple, innocent joke.  
“I’m so glad we don’t have a kid because honestly, it would probably outmatch your drawing skills,” Connor teases, waving with his boyfriend’s romantic note. He had a big grin on his face; the kind that makes it hard for Oliver to be irritated even though he is. He just grins back, rolling his eyes. 

It isn’t until the following night that he breaks the silence after getting into bed, and turning the lights off to snuggle close to each other.  
“Why don’t we have a kid?” Connor suddenly says in a soft, thoughtful voice. Oliver glances down at him in his arms, even though he can’t see him in the dark. It’s not that Oliver hasn’t thought about it; it’s rather that he always assumed he’d have to the one to bring it up.  


“I, well... we have never talked about it.” It’s mostly true. Sure, a few jokes here and there. But they have been together for quite a while; Oliver has already crossed the 30-line and Connor isn’t far behind. All around them, most of their friends have been having babies – multiple times, actually. But it’s always been one of those things he’s never been sure about when it comes to Connor. That’s probably why he feels all warm inside.  


“We should. I mean...,” Connor clears his throat. “I want to have kids with you. I want to have your kids. Not literally, but, I just... I want to have them. With you.”  


“Them? How many are you planning on having with me?” Oliver smirks and he can almost hear Connor blushing.  


“A whole god damn soccer team, as long as they are yours.”  


For the night, the conversation ends. They both fall asleep with a smile on their lips. 

***

Of course, it isn’t that easy. He isn’t sure who is more nervous as the agency seems to be checking their criminal backgrounds; well, more Connor’s. Oliver’s only crime is stealing a Mars bar at the local corner shop, and still haunts him. Connor assures him that it probably won’t be a deal-breaker, but he makes sure not to bring it up – and he makes sure his brother doesn’t mention a word of the incident (which he claims is one of the best moments in his entire life) during his interview. 

It’s the worst having all relatives and friends talking about them; especially as they can’t be there to listen.  


“Honestly? I’m glad I don’t have to listen. I doubt Michaela is any more censored than my sister more than likely was,” Connor says with a shrug, hardly looking up from his magazine. It doesn’t calm Oliver much though; and his brother won’t spill anything during lunch afterwards – but he makes sure to wear a big grin on his entire face. Oliver barely manages to eat anything. What if he told them about how he used to put his underwear over his pants, wrap a towel around his neck and ran around the house, pretending to be Superman. Or even worse, what if he told them about the time he walked in on Oliver, y’know, in the bathroom when he was fourteen? The smell of cheese coming from his bowl of Pasta Alfredo makes him want to throw up.  


No, actually. The hardest part is the first four rejections. The first is a baby whose mother decides to keep her, the second and third both end up in what must have seemed like better homes; and the fourth one has biological parents who doesn’t want their child to go to a gay couple. Oliver spends the night after the fourth rejection in what is supposed to be their kid’s room. It’s empty, so far, because they never seem to know wether they’ll end up with a baby, a toddler or even an older child. He cries himself to sleep. Connor doesn’t sleep at all. 

He hasn’t given up, but he’s trying to think about other stuff. They both are. Neither of them are nervous to even use the k-word near each other, or even when they are alone. Like mentioning it would automatically put them furthest down on the waiting list, or something. The not thinking about it doesn’t go so well though. He nearly chops off his fingers whilst slicing carrots; the only thing saving his precious limbs is the phone going off right before he is about to lower the knife again. 

“Hello, this is Oliver speaking,” he answers. It’s probably just Michaela, wanting to know if they are still on for Friday night. When she and Laurel became parents, it was like their friends became even more important; Friday nights at the Castillo-Pratt’s was more or less a holy tradition.  


“Hi Oliver, this is Samira Wilson from the social services. I’m calling you about a possible adoption.” He has to force himself not to drop the phone right there and there – or start to feel too excited. They have been so close to this so many times before, only to have it yanked away from them in the last minute.  


“Oh, um, okay. I... Sounds good?” What is he supposed to say? I’d adopt fifty kids as long as it doesn’t turn into another rejection.  


“We have a sibling couple, who we feel might match well with you and your husband.”  


“Uh, partner,” Oliver hears himself correct her. He blushes, with a slightly bewildered look. Why aren’t they married yet? They have definitely talked about it. After all, they are practically married anyway.  


“Do you think you could stop by tomorrow at noon? I’d like to discuss things further before we decide on anything.”  


“I... Okay, that sounds great.” He is floating. He can nearly feel the clouds around him. He has to grab the counter in front of him.  


“I will see you tomorrow then.” It takes several minutes after she hangs up for Oliver to put down the phone; just as Connor comes in from the bathroom, with just a towel wrapped around his hips.  


“I’m guessing that was Michaela. I told her we’re coming but apparently your confirmation means more than mine.”  


“No, that was, um,” Oliver clears his throat. “It was Samira. She has a kid for us. Two, actually.”  


“Oh.” They just stare at each other for what feels like hours.  


“I told her we’d come by tomorrow, but I get if two is more than you’d expected... I know that I...”  


“It just means we’re closer to our soccer team goal,” Connor grins brightly, and pulls him close. He plants a soft kiss on Oliver’s lips, who instantly lets his fingers run through his boyfriend’s wet, messy hair. He kisses him more deeply, pushing him up against the fridge.  


“Connor...” He sighs.  


“Mm?” Connor slides down on his knees, unzipping Oliver’s pants. He kisses his cock through the fabric of his underwear; earning a soft moan from his boyfriend. His partner. His soon to be co-parent. 

***

He tries to pretend they are on their way somewhere ordinary; like McDonald’s or Michaela’s house, hell, even Asher’s. It works on the ride over but as soon as he sees the dull, grey building, his knees feel wobbly and he feels his breakfast (the little he managed to get down) making its way up his stomach. Connor walks silently next to him, taking Oliver’s hand in his with a warm squeeze. The world stops spinning, and he walks towards the front door; almost feeling confident. 

“Hello,” Samira says with a broad smile, showing off her white teeth. She’s gotta floss, Oliver thinks. Or even have them regularly whitened. Nobody has that good teeth naturally. He swallows, realising his knee is shaking. Connor gives him a reassuring smile. “I’m glad you came. I know there’s been some complications for you guys, but I promise you, if all goes well... well, I’d say you could have them home for a test period at the end of the week, really.”  


“What are their names?” Connor asks, a curious glimpse in his eye. He has been the more practical, whatever-happens-happens of the two; but Oliver knows it’s been just as hard on him, if not more. He sometimes forgets how much his boyfriend seems to crave a child, maybe more than Oliver himself.  


“Right, um... Ella and Grace. The thing is...,” Samira clears her throat, giving them an apologetic smile. “Ella insists on being called Brandon. She doesn’t like to be called a girl.”  


“Then what does she prefer?”  


“She says she is a boy. We have had quite some issues with her for the last few months. She’s been in several foster homes, but it never works out. She ran away from her last foster home after an argument about her name, and the couple decided they couldn’t deal with it anymore.”  


“How old is he?” Oliver asks, feeling Connor’s hand squeezing his. He hasn’t even seen him but his heart already aches for the little boy. Oliver has always been sure about his gender, but he knows what it’s like to not have something you identify with being respected by others.  


“She just turned five last month. She has been in foster care since her sister was only two months old, let’s see... that makes it nearly seven months. She has been very vocal about it since day one.”  


“Maybe you should respect his wishes then,” Connor snaps before he even manages to think it through. He feels the rage filling him up inside; already protective over a child that might not even end up being his. But as always, he has a hard time not already giving them the title of _his_ kid.  


“I...” Samira starts, before smiling softly. “You are right. It’s just that it is most likely a phase considering her, his, age. But like I said, they have been in foster care for a little over five months, and during that time they have been in eight different foster homes – several of them being test periods for adoption. The mother died in a car crash, and the father is serving life time in prison. There are no close relatives at all, it seems like. At least not anyone who wants to claim them. They both have some health issues, nothing serious, but they are both very small for their ages; and Ella is partly deaf. She has hearing aids to help her hear better, but she is an avid talker. The baby seems not to be hearing impaired so far. She is still very young.”  


“Can we see them?” Oliver asks with badly hidden excitement. He can feel Connor battling between being pissed off and extremely curious next to him.  


“Yes, I brought some pictures for you,” She smiles, digging around in the large piles on her desk. “Ah, here,” she says after what feels like forever, and pulls out two small pictures. 

The first is a picture of a small child with dark, long curly hair and caramel brown eyes. He looks even smaller as he seems to be trying to shrink out of the Hello Kitty outfit they have put him in. Oliver smiles, and glances at Connor who is chewing on his lip with watery eyes. The second picture is of a baby, roughly around five, six months, he’d guess - definitely not nine. But she’s smiling with her mouth wide open and there is a mischievous twinkle in her dark eyes. The few black curls on her head points out in every direction.  


“They are so beautiful,” Connor mumbles next to him, and he reaches over to grab his hand with a comforting squeeze. Oliver barely registers the rest of the meeting. He can’t stop staring at the small photographs in front of him as Connor discusses the next step with Samira. The photographs of his kids. Their kids.

***

“We have so much to plan!” He exclaims twenty minutes later, with barely more than a leg inside the car. “We have, like, nothing and now we need stuff for two kids. Two kids! I’m so glad I’ve been saving.” He continues, with a big smile. In three days, their apartment is going to be loud and chaotic. He can’t wait. Connor just grunts back. “What’s wrong?”  


“I’m just... I wanted to punch her, Oliver, honestly. I’ve been wondering about this... if this is the right thing to do. Becoming a father, I mean. But I know I wanna do it. I’m so fucking tired of ignorant cishets.”  


“Did you say cishet? Someone needs to stop using the same social media as lgbt teens. You are about to be a dad, stick to Facebook,” Oliver teases.  


“Says you. Do you know how much time you spend on that thing?”  


“My laptop? Well, my job is based around it, so...”  


“Exactly my point. You’re worse.” Oliver just rolls his eyes, slightly amused.  


“I gotta call mom. I promised I would. She’s probably waiting by the phone.” He fumbles with his phone, buzzing with a nervous excitement.  


“Can’t you call mine while you’re at it?”  


“Don’t you want to be the one to tell her?”  


“She likes you better.”  


“That’s not true.” Connor just shrugs, and he decides not to push it further. 

Connor insists on celebration nuggets from McDonald’s, which is good because it gives Oliver five minutes to write down a quick list of things to buy.  


“Okay, that’s it, I think,” he says, tongue still poking out of his mouth in thought, as Connor shoves two nuggets down his mouth.  


“Watcha got?” He manages to get out as he swallows the nuggets, already holding another one in his hand.  


“Um, beds, maybe a bookshelf or a drawer or something… lamps, some toys, new clothes…” Yeah, he’s definitely glad he’s been saving like mad for the last year.  


“We should get him something better than Hello Kitty,” Connor says firmly.  


“Shouldn’t we teach him that boys can like Hello Kitty?” He doesn’t want his kids to think something is off-limits because of their gender. It is still something that haunts him from his own childhood, and he refuses to continue that ignorant way of parenting to go on; at least in his branch of the family.  


“Maybe when he’s realised we _aren’t_ transphobic asses.”  


“Right. Good point. Well, at least beds for now. Because I’m not sure about their clothing sizes, so maybe we should wai—“  


“We do. I asked.”  


“You did?” Oliver gazes at his boyfriend with a soft smile, a fuzzy warm feeling filling him up.  


“I want to be able to give my kid a better life, not a shittier one. Besides, we both know you’re going to turn into a photo posting daddy on Facebook and it’d look bad if he’d look as small and uncomfortable as in that picture she showed us,” Connor says with a nonchalant shrug - but his eyes give away how he truly felt about it, glittering and watery.

The furniture shopping is actually kind of boring, honestly. Connor insists on going to IKEA for some stupid reason; like he doesn’t even remember the struggle they had with the five bookshelves in the living room. In the end, they settle for a bed with a canopy in the form of colourful flags and a simple white crib with bright green drawers on the bottom. They go with a matching changing station that seems to be able to fit a month’s worth of diapers. That’s when Connor realises there will be diapers involved. He is extremely quiet and Oliver tries to stop himself from bursting out in laughter by grabbing several lamps in different colours, all with clouds on them. A table lamp, one for the ceiling, one to put on the drawer they end up buying. Instead of green, they go with blue. 

The fun part, however, is shopping for clothes. It’s been a long time since Oliver actually found it pleasing - if ever. Whenever they go shopping, it’s usually Connor who is hungry for nice clothes and good fashion; insisting to go into every shop. Oliver perhaps to just get it over with. But the children’s department is a different story all together.  


“I wish I was five,” He sighs softly, holding cute little top with white and light green stripes and the text “Roaar! I speak Dino”.  


“Oh, yeah? Check this one out then,” Connor says, holding up a green sweatshirt with a hood designed to look like a dragon’s head. Oliver lets out something between a loud gasp and a happy squeal.  


“We’re getting that one! And these!” He says, shoving a pair of sneakers with a skeleton print that promises to glow in the dark into Connor’s arms.  


“Stripes are cute, right? Simple but elegant,” His boyfriend has a debate with himself before adding at least eight striped long-sleeved t-shirts to the pile. It’s obvious they have different goals for the shopping spree. Oliver wants everything cute, preferably with cute prints or funny texts while Connor aims for clothes fit for a mini him. It’s easier buying clothes for the baby as they finally manage to get out from the boys’ section. They just pick out one of each body, and what seems like soft and practical pants.  


“Proper styling comes at age one,” Connor assures him, or probably more himself, as he dumps a pack of three Disney-inspired bodies at the top of the pile in his arms. They quickly walk towards the cash register before they’re able to spot any other clothes seemingly worthy of their soon-to-be children. Just the thought of that makes him want to scream of joy. He doesn’t. He just drags his partner with him in a hurry towards to the nearest toy shop.


	2. What's Swedish for fuck you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and IKEA doesn't get along. However, Laurel and IKEA definitely do - to Connor's big frustration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Scarlet for helping me create Sephy; she's great.

“Don’t fucking call her. I can do this. I can!” Connor shouts from what’s going to be Brandon’s room. Oliver just rolls his eyes. Yeah, sure, honey. He finds her easily in his contacts and it doesn’t ring more than a second before she picks up, almost like she was expecting him to call. She probably was. He’d tweeted something about baby furniture earlier. It felt a bit stupid, like it would mean someone would definitely come and take the kids in front of their eyes, but it also filled him with a happy, excited feeling that took many cartwheels in the living room to get rid of.  


“Laurel speaking.”

“Hi, um, it’s Oliver… are you busy?” He asks, glancing over towards his boyfriend’s location, trying to speak as quietly as possible not to alert any suspicion from Connor. 

“No, not really. I just got home, honestly. What’s up?” 

“Connor’s trying to assemble a bed, and…” He pauses to listen to the string of cuss words coming from the kid bedroom. Someone never learns. Laurel sighs into the phone, but it’s an amused sigh - as usual when it comes to Connor-related stuff. It’s not a tired sigh like with Asher or a mock sigh when it comes to Michaela. 

“I’ll be there in fifteen, okay? Michaela’s working late, though, so I’m bringing Sephy.” 

“That’s all right! I’ll make some carrots sticks. It’s baby carrots so they’re all fresh and juicy.” 

“God, one could think you already have fifteen kids.” Oliver just laughs softly in return, and hangs up. 

***

It barely takes ten minutes before there’s a knock on the door; well, rather three quick knocks in a row. 

“God damn it, Ollie, I told you not to call her!” Connor shouts, more than likely still struggling with the same piece as fifteen minutes ago. 

“I’m sorry! She’s just so good at this… remember how easily she assembled our kitchen table last summer? She’s like… Furniture Woman,” He says as he walk towards the door, quickly opening it. Almost instantly, Sephy throws herself at him. “Oh, hi!” With a soft chuckle, he wraps his arms around her to prevent her from falling. “My god, you’ve grown since I last saw you!” 

“You saw me two days ago!” Sephy exclaims. “But you’re right,” she adds thoughtfully. “I won the spelling bee yesterday.” 

“You did? That’s awesome!” 

“I didn’t even study for it,” She says as he lets her down on her feet. Her light brown eyes glitter with pride. “I was great.” 

“What did we say about bragging?” Laurel butts in, but it’s hard not to notice the amused pride in her own eyes. Sephy just rolls her eyes at her mother before rushing by Oliver into the apartment. “How’s he doing?” 

“Badly, honestly,” He admits with a small smile. “But he’s trying.” 

“When are they bringing them over? It was two, right?” 

“Yeah, two. They’re biological siblings, so they don’t want to separate them. Possibly half-siblings?” 

“What makes you think that?” 

“Brandon… I mean, the oldest, is definitely East Asian but the baby is biracial; partly black, if you will - whatever “partly” means. Not that it matters. They’d be siblings even if they didn’t share DNA at all. It just gives me that worry that the father that isn’t registered will come and try to claim his kid.” 

“Sephy’s biological father was also unregistered. It doesn’t mean anything. Besides, when the test period is over… nothing he says will change the fact that they are yours.” 

“I guess you’re right,” Oliver sighs deeply. “I just feel like something is going to go wrong… it feels too good to be real. We’re a lot closer this time than… any of the times before.” 

“It’s good you’re surrounded by lawyers then,” Laurel says with a wink before hurrying towards Brandon’s bedroom. It takes thirty minutes before every furniture in the bedroom are assembled and put in place. It goes so fast that not even Connor is able to say anything against Laurel’s fine work. 

“Do you want help with the baby furniture too?” 

“Yes,” Oliver quickly answers before his boyfriend is able to pull his stubborn ass together and decline the must needed help. Ever since he found out that Asher can assemble IKEA furniture, he’s been desperate to be able to too. 

“I’ll fix the lamp,” Connor says, walking after her across the hallway towards what’s going to be the nursery. Sephy stays on the newly bought bed that still lacks bedding. At least there’s a mattress. 

“What do you think he’s going to like?” She asks suddenly as she watches him pick up the clothes from all the plastic bags. He folds them neatly, putting them away in the cabinet’s bright blue drawers. 

“Oh, geez. I don’t know, but I sure hope he likes Spongebob. Because I definitely like Spongebob.” 

“Spongebob is funny,” Sephy agrees, nodding for herself. “Do you think he’ll like Wonder Woman the most? I do.” Her face is thoughtful as she watches him, chewing lightly on her bottom lip. The importance of Wonder Woman isn’t hard to understand; she’s wearing a pink, worn-out top with the heroine on it. The light colour makes her ebony skin seem even darker than usual. 

“I’ll make sure he does, don’t you worry. Connor’s probably going to try and get him to like Iron Man the most, and we both know we can’t have that.” 

“Yuck!” 

“Yuck indeed!” He grins, folding what seems to be an never-ending supply of striped long-sleeved tops. It’s not that he minds stripes. He likes stripes, quite a lot. But when you’re five… why would you wear a striped t-shirt when you can wear a colourful one with a bug pun on it? 

“Did you know a lot of five year olds are gross?” She says after a few minutes of silence - and nearly causes Oliver to choke on a chuckle. 

“Oh?” 

“Uh uh. Zoey was gross last year, but now she’s six. But now Maya’s five and she’s really gross,” She makes a grimace at the mere thought of Wes’ two oldest children at the age of five. “She eats her own boogers.” 

“Oh, sweetie, I don’t think that’s limited to five year olds,” He answers, thinking about that one co-worker he tries to avoid as much as possible but has the luck to sit just across the table from during most meetings. 

“No, but most of them are five,” She counters matter-of-factly, a frown on her face. 

“You know what? You are probably right.” 

“Thank you.” 

By the time they exit the bedroom and go into the nursery, the room is almost done already. Connor’s putting the mattress into the crib whilst Laurel pushes the changing station’s green drawers into place. 

“Why is there no pink?” Sephy exclaims in horror, the frown back on her face instantly. “How are they supposed to live like this?” 

“They were out of pink drawers, but don’t you worry, we’ll add some pink to the room,” Connor grins, poking her nose. She frowns but has a hard time not giggling right away afterwards. It’s hard not to like Uncle Connor, it seems, even if he’s still poking your nose when you are eight years old. 

“We could do her name in pink letters on the wall,” Oliver suggests. 

“I’ve got my name in purple letters at home. I like it. But pink would be even better,” She agrees, gazing up at them. “What’s her name?” 

“Grace,” Oliver says. 

“Gracie,” Connor says at the same time. They grin sheepishly at each other. _Gracie_. It gives Oliver a warm feeling in his stomach. 

“And she needs a car rug, guys,” Sephy continues, tapping on the floor to make sure they realise something is definitely missing. 

“Oh, believe me, we’ve got one just waiting to be put on the floor. We haven’t forgotten that important detail.” 

“To me, it seems like you’ve thought about everything,” Laurel says, a smirk on her lips. Just like her best friends to make this into a big project. Not that Michaela hadn’t back when Sephy came to them. It’s the only time she’s seen her covered in paint; well, except for the framed picture in Sephy’s bedroom. 

“He made a list,” Connor says, pointing over at Oliver who blushes. “It’s quite thorough. We won’t have to do any more shopping until next year, probably.” 

“That’s what I said, and in two months, she’d outgrown all the clothes we’d bought. And she was already two at the time. The baby’s like what, not even a year? Good luck with that,” Laurel teases, trying not to chuckle at the sight of their pale faces. “I’m sure they’ll be fine.” They both looked relieved. 

***

They celebrate the furniture assembling with carrot sticks with chocolate chip cookies and warm milk for dessert. Then Laurel and Sephy has to hurry off; something about needing to at least pretend to be hungry when Michaela orders take-away before it’s time for Sephy’s ballet class. There’s a silence in the apartment after they leave, and Oliver has to shove two cookies down his throat to stop a loud squeal. In just a few days, that silence will be a thing of the past. A legend, a myth. 

“You know what?” Connor’s voice brings him back from his thoughts. 

“Hm?” 

“I love you. I love you so fucking much,” His boyfriend says, leaning over to plant a passionate, hard kiss on his lips. Oliver kisses back just as hard, feeling like he’s going to explode if just a little inch more happiness decides to join the party. He wouldn’t be able to take it. He already feels a little light-headed. But he wouldn’t have it any other way either. He is exactly where he wants to be. 

“I love you too,” He murmurs against his soft lips before kissing him deeper, a hand sliding up to rest on Connor’s cheek. “So, so, so much.”


	3. No pulp!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arrival day is finally, finally here.

Neither of them are able to sleep. It’s the night before. Tomorrow, everything will change. But for now, they’re eating potato chips out of a bag whilst watching some crappy sitcom, wearing nothing but a shared blanket. They don’t talk, they just sit cuddled up against each other as the hours pass. They think about how they’ll miss this, and how much they won’t. A new life will begin and they can’t wait for it to finally happen. After all they’ve been through, after all the tears and the disappointment and the days they weren’t even able to look at each other… it seems about time. 

At seven, they both rush up to get dressed. Samira promised to arrive sometime between eight and nine; and they certainly don’t want to open the door butt-naked.

“Should I wear a suit?” Oliver asks, gazing nervously at his boyfriend who laughs softly from the foot of the bed, putting a pair of socks on. 

“I think they’ll let them stay even if we wear normal clothes, Ollie.” He kind of knows that; but he always feel the pressure when it came to clothing choices. What if they think his taste in fashion is absolutely ridiculous, and that no kid could ever grow up to be a good person under the same roof as someone with a top like that. His oldest sister, Lily, is already dressing like a middle-aged housewife despite being thirty-four and quite successful in her career as head chef at a restaurant down in West Chester, but then again, none of her children were adopted. Both her daughters looked like miniature versions of her, except better dressed. 

“Right,” He says, picking out a grey henley shirt instead, along with a pair of deep blue denim jeans. “What are you going to wear?” 

“My _Spank me_ t-shirt. I love that one.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Oliver laughs loudly, throwing an old, balled up shirt at him. Connor just grins. “You do that, and I’m opting for full custody.” 

“Mmm, maybe I should show Samira your collection of porn, or even better… that big box of sex toys under the bed.” 

“You would not.” 

“Hmmm.” 

“You’re the worst,” He groans, pulling his pants on. 

“By the way, we should probably get those things a better hiding place, huh?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Oliver laughs softly. “Did I tell you about that one time Bennett and Ronan found my sister’s collection?” 

“Only about five million times,” His boyfriend teases, quickly moving down on all four to wiggle the box out from its hiding place; his butt straight up into the air. “What’s a baby-free hiding spot? Up in the closet?” 

“It was funny, okay. Still is. I can just imagine her face… I don’t think I’d laugh as much if it happened to us.” That would honestly be the worst thing ever. He’d probably, like, die. 

“Honestly? I don’t think there’s any chance either Brandon or Gracie will be as snoopy as those two,” He replies, a grimace on his face as he thinks about two of his nephews-in-law; shoving the box of sex toys onto the shelf in their shared closet. As the sister with five children, Sarah had thankfully never been the one asking for babysitting more than twice during the four years he and Oliver had been together. But two times had been more than enough. 

“Sarah’s insisting on spending more time with us, so, honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised. She’s already bought, like, five packages of pills for Koltan if he gets car sick. She’s prepared, Con.” 

“Couldn’t it have been either of the sisters with normally wild children?” Oliver came from a large family; the third of four siblings so far meant six nephews and four nieces but it seemed like his parents were hoping for double that amount. 

“Well, them too. I guess we’re more fun now when we’re gonna have kids. Probably because how pale you’d look whenever they’d discuss diapers and poop; but now you can be in on it.” 

“It’s disgusting. I don’t care about their kids’ pooping habits, or what it looks like.” 

“You never changed either Nathan or Joey when they were little?” Oliver asks with a raised eyebrow. Connor had definitely been old enough to be a babysitter for his sister’s kids when they were still in diapers. But he had heard strangely few stories including his nephews from that period of his life, which was understandable. It was hard to picture a twenty year old Connor having even the slightest interest in playing family. He’d more than likely been busy partying at a college across the country. Even Oliver had spent the first few years of his oldest nephew and nieces’ life at college, but he’d managed to earn the playful nickname Unclesitter because of how much of his free time back at home would be spent with them. That was back when he thought he’d never have any of his own. Funny how just a couple of years changes things around. 

“Are you kidding me? Do you think she let me anywhere near them?” Connor scoffs. 

“Why wouldn’t she?” He wrinkles his nose, and his boyfriend’s cheeks flush bright red as he realise that story, thankfully, have never come up before. At least not until now. 

“I threw up on Nate, and it just… seemed best to keep us far away from each other until he grew out of diapers,” He murmurs, just loud enough for the other man, who instantly bursts out into a wild cackle, to hear. 

“I would pay to have seen that!” He doesn't stop cackling until it's time to brush his teeth. 

***

When the clock strikes half past seven, they’re both sat in the living room; staring at the front door like they are prepared to jump up and rush over there in half a second when the doorbell rings. Which they are. The time goes by so slow; by fifteen to eight it feels like they’ve sat there for an entire afternoon. He wants to take Connor’s hand in his but he’s afraid to remove his hands from the pockets of his jeans, he can feel them shaking already.

“Do you think they’ll want breakfast when they arrive?” Oliver asks, glancing over towards the kitchen. Every little cupboard is filled to the brim with kids’ food; four kinds of cereal depending on what Brandon likes, two kinds of poptarts which are both for Brandon and Connor and more fruit than either of them have eaten in their entire lives. Fruit is supposed to be good for kids, a lot better than poptarts. But Connor does a really good begging look when he wants something really badly. At least Oliver had put his foot down after two gigantic boxes. It felt a little bit like a practice. It was one of those things he was afraid of not being able to do; saying no to his kids. He wanted to give them everything he possibly could, but he also wanted them to know boundaries and routines. 

“Probably… I was going to make pancakes but what if he’s allergic to something? Flour? Butter? I don’t know, the smell of pancakes?” His boyfriend looks even more nervous, almost terrified. “But they’d tell us that, right?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s allergic to your face,” Oliver teases. Connor gasps, playfully offended, and shoves a pillow in his direction. A warm laughter breaks the tension and nervousity for a while, but soon they are back at staring at the door; Oliver trying to make himself think of the latest assignments at work and Connor doing a long, intense drum solo with his feet against the floor. 

***

When the doorbell actually rings, they first stare at each other like they weren’t expecting it to actually ring; like this was all a dream they’d co-dreamed up together somehow. The following second, they are out of their seats and hurrying towards the door. They are both glad they haven’t had breakfast yet, or they’d throw up all over the door.

“Hey,” Samira smiles wide when Connor opens the door, a co-worker next to her whose name is either Betty or Barbara. She smiles too, but she looks more tired, like she can’t wait to get this over with so she can go buy some pancakes at the nearest fast food restaurant. She’s holding the sleeping baby wrapped up in a blanket; all they can see is the curly hair sticking up in every direction. Brandon stands in front of Samira, staring at the floor. He’s wearing a polka-dotted dress, and it isn’t hard to see how badly he seems to want to just rip it off. Connor swallows hard, his ‘Hey’ stuck mid-way up his throat. 

“Hello,” Oliver says, his smile so bright and wide his lips nearly touch his ears. He sees the same things as his boyfriend and easily calculates that the sooner they get this over with, the sooner they’ll be able to get him into something that doesn’t make him want to claw his eyes out in frustration. He lets them inside, politely asking them if they want anything. Coffee, perhaps? Betty or Barbara shakes her head. 

“I’d love some coffee,” Samira says. “Maybe Ella would like some juice?” She continues, glancing down at Brandon who just stares at her with big but indifferent dark brown eyes. 

“Oh, sure, we’ve got some orange juice. You like that?” He asks the little boy, pouring coffee into three cups. There’s no answer, so he pours a glass just in case. 

“So, are you done with the rooms yet?” Samira smirks as she glances around. Oliver nods. “Can we see? Do you wanna see your room, Ella?” She only gets the same indifferent look in return. 

“Perhaps you’d like to take her,” Betty or Barbara says to Connor, handing over the sleeping baby before he can reply - but it’s not like he’d ever say no. He wraps his arms around her, smiling small at the tiny noises she makes in her sleep, and how her nose wrinkles up every time. If he could, he’d keep her there in his arms forever. Brandon stays with Connor in the kitchen during the short sight-seeing. He doesn’t want to come along, and neither Samira or her co-worker pushes any further. 

“Oh, this is really nice,” She says as she enters his new bedroom. Some of the toys are still in their boxes, waiting for their new owner to come claim them. The small bookcase is still empty; waiting for a collected delivery from the Hampton family. “Very blue. She definitely likes blue.” 

“We’re not completely ready yet, we’re like… waiting to see his input,” Oliver says, chewing his lower lip nervously. He’s anxious about what they’ll say about the room. What if it isn’t good enough? They’ve thought of nearly everything that is vital in a kid’s every day life. The rest comes along the way. It’s a work in progress, like nearly everything else. But honestly, he’d prefer to be able to present an already decorated room for every phase in Brandon’s future; middle school, tween… “We weren’t sure what he likes, and all.” 

“Is Grace getting her own room then? Because I see no crib here… unless you haven’t set it up yet?” 

“Oh, yeah, no, it’s just across the hall. It was kind of a home gym before? Since we thought we’d only need one more bedroom. But honestly, it was just this old treadmill and it fits a lot better in our storage because I don’t even remember when someone used it last. I don’t even think it was me or Connor; it might’ve been my brother. Uh, but the nursery is more or less the same… except green and more baby-ish.” 

“I’m sure they’ll both love it. I know I would if I was a kid,” Samira says, sipping on her cup of coffee as they walk over to the nursery. Betty or Barbara says nothing, just follows Samira around with a sort of smile on her face. Oliver isn’t sure how to take that smile at all, but Samira’s smile seems sincere and excited. “Perhaps orange juice isn’t your thing?” Connor finally says after an intense, silent staring contest. “We also have apple juice, and um…” He gets up to check the fridge. “Grapefruit? I don’t know if that’s a good one, though… because that’s Oliver’s… daddy’s… uh, Oliver’s and that pretty much says it all.” 

“Pulp,” Brandon murmurs, staring down into the brand-new plastic cup in front of him. 

“What was that?” 

“No pulp,” He says, just a little louder, glancing up at him. Connor gasps dramatically. 

“Oh, shoot. He gave you _pulp_? What kind of person gives someone orange juice with pulp, huh?” Connor quickly reaches over to grab the plastic cup, throwing its contents down the sink before pouring him a glass of non-pulp orange juice. “I swear, we’re better than that. Pulp is gross.” He is almost sure there’s a hint of a smile on Brandon’s lips as he takes the cup again. This time, he downs it all in one chug. Connor, for one, cracks a big smile. 

***

It feels like forever before Samira and Betty or Barbara are finally out the door; leaving the tiny new family on its own. Oliver smiles softly as he returns to the kitchen, finding Brandon sipping on his third glass of non-pulp orange juice as Connor tries to peel an orange one-handed, Gracie still sleeping in his arms. He sits down next to Brandon, who still looks quite uncomfortable in his dress.

“You don’t like dresses that much, huh?” Oliver asks, gazing down at the quiet boy who suddenly studies his cup very intensively. Brandon shakes his head, almost violently. “Well, Mrs. Green told us about that and we thought, hey, you should only wear things you like, right? It isn’t very nice to wear things that makes you uncomfortable and sad. So, we got you some other stuff that are purely non-dresses. Would you feel better if we changed out of the dress?” Brandon nods, this time barely noticeable. “You get to pick whatever you want. You’ve got a whole closet!” Brandon follows him, silently, to his new bedroom; a few feet behind him like he’s afraid it might be some kind of trap. Oliver nearly takes his tiny hand in his but stops himself before he reaches out for it. It’s the first time he’s been proper anxious about what a five year old thinks of him. He doesn’t want him to react badly to the touch; it’d feel like a kick in the stomach on his first day as a parent. It’s better not to even risk it. 

“This is your new room…,” Oliver says, scratching the back of his head. “We’ve decorated it for you, but if there’s something you don’t like, we’ll put it away instantly, okay? This is your room, so it should be the way you want it to be.” Brandon glances around the room, pausing to take in the Toy Story bedding. “Do you like Toy Story?” 

“Yeah,” He answers with a firm nod. 

“Good. I do too. Here’s your closet. Let’s see… we’ve got pants and t-shirts and hoodies and socks and boxers…” 

“Boy underwear?” Brandon’s voice is so light and small; together with his small posture, it’s hard to think he’s a day over four. 

“Uh, yeah, uh huh. You know what? I’ll go into the kitchen and make some us both some breakfast whilst you change. You can wear whatever you want, okay? Do you like Froot Lops or Cap’n Crunch the most?” 

“Cap’n.” 

“Aye aye,”He hurries out of the room, only sneaking a glance back to see Brandon look through his new closet, filled to the brim with his very own boy clothes. It’s hard not to smile at the sight. “How’s it going?” Connor asks as soon as he steps into the kitchen, putting each slice of orange into a plastic bowl; matching the plastic cup. Thanks, IKEA. 

“I think… I think it’s going good. I told him he can change into anything he wants,” He answers, opening the fridge to grab the milk carton. “And his favourite is Cap’n Crunch.” 

“God dammit!” 

“Sssh, don’t wake the baby. It would be very fitting to have her first word be Dammit. Mom would probably be overjoyed if it was God, though, so that you can say.” 

“I was rooting for another Froot Looper.” He pouts dramatically, earning a chuckle and a pity-kiss on the cheek from Oliver. “But, yeah, that’s good.” 

“I just feel like… just looking at him was breaking my heart. Did they have to make him wear that when it obviously made him uncomfortable? What were they thinking?” 

“I’m trying not to think about it right now because it’s pissing me off,” Connor says, popping an orange slice into his mouth. 

“I just want him to be okay.” 

“He will be okay. We’ll treat him with actual respect.” 

“He is just so quiet,” Oliver sighs, glancing back towards the open door leading into the kid bedroom. “Have you seen his eyes? They look so sad. Like, proper sad.” 

“What do you expect? How many homes has he lived in for the last… shit, not even the last year? Samira said he’d been in and out from foster homes since before Gracie was born too.” 

“She said so?” 

“Yeah, she told us when you were busy planning what clothes to buy them,” Connor teases, kissing the top of Gracie’s head. “Do you want to hold her?” Oliver gives him a look. “I thought I’d ask!” 

“Oh, hello, sweetheart,” Oliver coos at the still sleeping baby as his boyfriend places her in his arms. “She’s so tiny, isn’t she?” 

“She is pretty tiny. But we might feel that way because all your siblings all seem to produce really fat babies.” 

“That is a valid point. Not like your sister’s kids weren’t, like, extremely chubby.” 

“Don’t worry, we’ll chub her up. Actually, some of that baby food seems pretty delicious to me, and easy as hell. You want spaghetti and meatsauce but you’re stressed out with barely any time to eat? Here, it’s already blended and ready. _Perfect_.” 

“You’re gross. I can understand the fruit ones, though. It’s like a blended fruit salad.” 

“Yeah, so, the rest’s a food salad. Don’t discriminate.” 

“I’m not! I’m ju—” Suddenly, Brandon climbs up in the chair next to him. He’s wearing a pair of dark purple twill pants and a grey top that says “I honk for Minions”. He remains quiet but seems a lot more satisfied and comfortable with himself than he was just five minutes ago. “Oh, hey, bud! Looking real good there, I like your choices.” 

“You like the Minions?” Connor asks, raising an eyebrow as he chews on another orange slice. Brandon looks at him and shrugs. 

“Have you seen the movies?” Oliver butts in, glancing down at him. Brandon just shrugs again. “Do you want to?” Brandon nods. 

“I don’t think they play it at the cinema anymore but we’ve got Target just five minutes away. I bet you they have all the movies with Minions in it.” For the first time, Brandon looks proper excited. “But only if you eat a big, healthy breakfast. I heard you like Cap’n Crunch, huh?” 

“Yes,” Brandon manages to get out. “Can I have some?” 

“Of course! Milk or chocolate milk?” He asks, ignoring the stare from Oliver. Chocolate is considered healthy at times, therefore chocolate milk qualifies as healthy breakfast. Especially when you’re five and just arrived to a new home with strangers. They’re parents, not fascists. 

“Chocolate,” He murmurs with just the slightest smile on his lips.


	4. Welcome home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a fun but challenging first day.

After a short visit to Target where Brandon has a hard time letting go of the blu-rays in his arms but keeps quiet, they arrive at home just in time for an emergency change of diapers as Gracie wakes up and begins to wail over her suddenly soggy diaper.

“Do you wanna, uh…?” Connor asks, quickly handing her over to Oliver before he is able to say no. Rolling his eyes, he hurries into the nursery. But not before he sees Brandon hurry into his own room, the blu-rays pressed against his chest. It feels good to see him care about something for the first time; it feels like a good start of opening up. Then Gracie wails again and he returns his focus to the small child kicking her feet in anger on the changing station in front of him. It’s just a lot of pee so it goes fast and nearly smell-free. Gracie talks for herself as he lets her down on the floor, allowing her to discover her new room for the first time. There’s already toys scattered around on the floor, everything from bunny plushie bought as a gift from Asher to the educating picture books from the Castillo-Pratt family. She grabs hold of the bunny plushie, violently hugging it with a squeal. 

“You like Mr. Bunny? He’s all soft, pink and cute,” Oliver chuckles. “I think he even came with clothes…” He glances around, searching for the tiny bag with clothes that went with the bunny. “Ah, well. He’s got tons of fur, so I’m sure he’ll be okay without them.” Gracie lovingly bangs Mr. Bunny against the floor, a wide smile on her lips that reveal the few teeth in her baby mouth. They are both in the upper row and on the sides, making her look like a baby vampire of sorts. A really cute baby vampire. He follows as she crawls out of the nursery, heading towards the living room. At least they had the sense to put her in a simple green body that allows her to move as she wants to. “Where are you going, sweetcheeks?” He asks, grinning, as he follows her on all four. She squeals, crawling a little faster. “Oh, no, you aren’t getting away from me!” She stops in the middle of the living room, gazing longingly into the kitchen. “Nuh uh, there’s knives in there. Lots of them. Connor… your daddy is really bad at putting them away.” His heart beats a little faster, letting out a shaky breath. They’re parents now. Someone’s daddies. He glances up to find Connor stand in the kitchen, his gaze directed towards Brandon’s room. “You okay, babe?” 

“Hm?” Connor turns around, spotting them on the floor. He makes a silly face and waves at Gracie before shrugging. “Yeah, I’m just…” He points towards the kid bedroom. 

“He’s still in there?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Let him settle down. It’s probably a lot to take in. It’s only been like, two hours.” 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Connor nods and walks into the living room; his posture a lot more relaxed. “What are you two doing? Are you exploring?” He gets on his knees, pulling all kinds of grimaces at Gracie who lets out a loud, warm laugh that makes her whole body shake to the point where she’s close to falling over. It’s hard not to fall in love at the sight of it. “Michaela has been texting me non-stop for the last thirty minutes. She’s already demanding pics.” 

“Aren’t we seeing them in, like, less than a week? Veronica’s turning three, isn’t she? But yeah, mom and the sisters are doing that too. Even Ben sent me a text. Mostly because he bought Gracie a body, and he wants to make sure we actually dress her in it, I guess.” 

“Oh, she is. I don’t think I’ll ever forget her birthday.” It isn’t like the others didn’t throw birthday parties for their kids but Asher had always been the one to take it to the limit, and beyond. His daughter is only going on three - but Asher liked to treat it like it was a bigger deal than the Nobel Prize dinner. In a way, sure, it was. But at the same time… 

“Do you think he’s gonna want to go?” Oliver asks, glancing up at his boyfriend, chewing hard down his lower lip. “I mean, it’s just a week away… I don’t know if he’ll feel comfortable with so many people so early on.” 

“If he doesn’t want to go, I’ll be happy to stay home. I always eat too much cake anyway.” 

“Okay.” 

“Ollie, it’ll be okay… he’ll be okay.” 

“Yeah, I know, I know.” He smiles softly, leaning over to press a hard but loving kiss to Connor’s lips. He returns the kiss, smiling into it. 

***

Another hour passes without as much as a sound from Brandon’s room. They’re both trying not to go in there, wanting to give him as much space as possible. But after an hour and a half, Connor has a hard time sitting still on the floor next to Gracie - no matter how cute she looks chewing on her toys. Mr. Bunny is a wet mess.

“I’m just gonna go check on him, okay?” He says, walking out from the living room, through the kitchen and into the hallway to stop in the doorway to the kid bedroom. Oliver sighs softly but quickly returns his focus to the baby as she starts to crawl towards the television set. Brandon is sitting on the floor, his back against the closet door. He’s holding a toy figure in his hands but makes no move to play with it. 

“Hey, bud,” Connor says, slowly sitting down next to him. “What do you have there?” Brandon shows him. It’s a plush version of teenage mutant ninja turtle Donatello. More than likely a gift from Oliver’s nephews. They’re quadraplets and quickly fond themselves identifying with all four different turtles; the other three plushies must be somewhere in a box. At least that’s a good sign. Brandon looks like he’s also been exploring his new home. They sit in silence for a while. Connor isn’t sure what to say. He just wants to wrap his arms around the small boy and tell him that this home means a stop to all the bad things; no more forcing him to be a girl or throwing him out when he refuses to play along with it. He just wants to hug him and never let go; never give someone another chance to make him this way. But he doesn’t. He just gives him a small smile, ruffling his mop of brown curls as he gets up. “We’ll be out there if you need us, okay?” Brandon just stares at the plushie as he walks out of the room. 

***

The rest of the day goes by way too quickly. Brandon comes out for dinner, Oliver’s famous macaroni and cheese, before returning to his room. Gracie spends the day exploring before she gets tired and starts crying. And once she starts, it’s almost impossible to get her to stop. They check her diaper at least seven times within an hour but it doesn’t seem to have as much as a tiny wet spot.

“Do you think she’s old enough to find it funny if I slam my head into the TV screen?” Connor asks as he walks around the living room, rocking her in an attempt to calm her down. It’s been eight minutes but he is stubborn and refuses to stop walking around. They’ve heard from Oliver’s sisters how all of them used to drive around in their cars to get their babies to stop crying. Sadly, they don’t own a baby seat for her yet. But they do have two good feet each. 

“I’m old enough to cry if you do,” Oliver replies, sighing softly. “Maybe it’s the teeth. She’s nine months. She’s got two, but I’m pretty sure she’s supposed to have more by now, so maybe they’re coming along” 

“What do you do for teething? Force them back down?” 

“No! I’ll google it, I guess,” He says, quickly grabbing his phone, typing away. “Uhhh, try massaging her gums. It’s supposed to help. I’m seeing way too much criticism about the teething gel to even dare find out where to buy it.” 

“I’m massaging, I’m massaging,” Connor grunts, slipping one finger into Gracie’s mouth, gently massaging her gums. 

“We could get her something hard to chew on, but I don’t think we have anything that is baby safe. Mr. Bunny definitely didn’t seem to help, even though he did soak up a lot of the drool.” 

“Why didn’t we buy baby-safe hard toys?” 

“Because people tell you to buy baby-safe soft toys! Because she’s a baby!” 

“I think it’s working,” Connor gasps. Gracie is quiet again, a few tears rolling down her cheeks as she lets out a sob. But there’s no more actual crying, and she almost looks content with the massage of her gums. 

“Maybe she’s tired. It’s getting kind of late.” 

“Do we put her in her bed or our bed?” The thought of leaving her in the crib in her own bedroom suddenly seems cruel. It’s at least twelve big steps away from their own bedroom; not including the one and a half step from the door to the crib inside her room. Not that Connor’s been measuring or anything. 

“Our bed? I mean, she’s tiny and she might cry again, and… it’s the first day,” Oliver answers, a thoughtful look on his face. “I want her to feel safe.” 

“What about B? We should probably put him to bed soon too.” 

“I’ll put him to bed. I don’t think he’s ready for the whole bedtime story thing yet, so.” 

“Okay, I’m gonna get this little thing into her pajamas.” 

“Okay,” Oliver smiles warmly, giving them each a kiss on the cheek before hurrying towards the kid bedroom. It’s eerily quiet, and he’s not at all surprised to find Brandon passed out on the floor, with Donatello under his arm. “Oh, boy.” He chuckles quietly, careful not to wake the child as he lifts him up; carrying him over to the bed. He quickly undresses him down to his underwear, smiling small at the sight of the Marvel boxers they’d bought just a few days before. No more girl underwear for this boy. He gets the hearing aids off, turning them off before placing them on the nightstand next to the bed. “Goodnight, kiddo,” He murmurs, planting a kiss to his forehead, tucking the turtle plushie in next to him under the duvet. “And welcome home.” Connor and Gracie are both half-asleep by the time Oliver enters the master bedroom, teeth brushed and clothes changed into his favourite pajamas bottoms. Not that he owns that many. But he prefers the ones that used to match Connor’s; until Connor managed to ruin them by dropping an entire blueberry pie in his lap last fall. It was quite the mess. Oliver mostly just laughed. It’s a nice thing to be reminded of every time he puts his pajamas on. 

“What a day,” Connor says, letting out a long, deep sigh. “I’m almost afraid that if I fall asleep, I’ll wake up to find out today was just a very good dream.” 

“Nuh uh. We’re parents now,” Oliver grins, slipping into the bed next to him. His boyfriend grins back, placing the sleeping baby between them under the duvet. 

“Is he okay in there?” 

“He was fast asleep. It’s been a long day for us all; but especially for him.” Connor nods, licking his lips thoughtfully as he rests his head against his pillow but it’s not hard to see he’s having a hard time actually relaxing. 

“Maybe we should’ve let him stay here too?” He finally asks, staring up at the ceiling. “Maybe he wakes up and doesn’t remember where he’s at.” 

“I left his door open. We’ll hear if he wakes up. I’m more worried he’ll wake up without being able to put his hearing aids on. What if he doesn’t do that by himself? I should have asked because I got them off when I put him to bed, but what if he wakes up, freaking out about not being able to hear?” 

“I’ll set the alarm early, so we can be up before he wakes up.” 

“Good,” Oliver smiles small, pressing a kiss to his boyfriend’s lips before turning the last light off. 

“I can’t believe they are ours,” Connor murmurs as he tries to relax, his body more than ready for a good few hours of sleep. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to wrap my head around that one,” Oliver muses, nuzzling his face into Gracie’s soft baby cheek. He doesn’t ever want to, either. He never wants to take these two for granted. But at the same time, he already doesn’t want to spend a single day without them. Okay, maybe a short one for adult fun. Half-day. Granted any of their friends pass the babysitter test he’s going to put together. First off, no chocolate milk…


	5. Green is bad, blue is good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avocado is gross but pancakes are great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter went in a completely different direction than planned; hopefully there will be more action in the next one. This is just pure family fluff.

It’s the fourth day of parenthood. Connor wakes up to a tiny fist poking his cheek, its owner snoozing loudly on his chest. The door from the bedroom to apartment is open, and he can faintly hear Oliver’s voice coming from the kitchen. By the few half-words he’s able to snap up, it seems he’s talking to his parents. They tend to do that; put the conversation on speaker so they can both speak at the same time. It’s confusing for everyone but them. However, they’re not very likely to stop doing it now after all these years. It’s just to say “Uh huh” or “Yeah” in the right places, and hope they are talking about the same thing. Usually, they call once a week but they’ve been calling every morning and every evening for the last four days; probably to make sure all four in the Hampton household are still alive. It feels a bit odd, being the only Walsh. Even more so as he feels so ready to just leave that name behind. It’s never been an important one to him, but he’d never actually thought that he’d end up with a different one some day. But right now, that day should’ve been yesterday.

“Hey there,” He murmurs, pressing a light kiss to Gracie’s cheek. It’s chubby, probably the only chub on her, and warm. “You’re going to make it very hard to get out of bed, huh?” She smiles in her sleep. “Yeah, I figured.” He glances at his phone on the nightstand; it’s barely seven am and the alarm went off twelve minutes ago. And as the other three mornings, he must’ve slept through it again, forcing Oliver to climb over him, and the baby, to shut it off. At least that means he hasn’t been up for long. But Connor really should be getting up - it’s quite obvious it’ll be a long day ahead of them with Brandon. He’s talking and looks less terrified, but he still prefers to stay in his room with the door closed. They both often find themselves standing outside the door, afraid to go inside but afraid to not. But at the same time… It’s hard not to just lay there, gazing at Gracie as she sleeps. It’s hard to truly understand the fact that she’s his; not yet legally, but soon. And even more so, he has responsibility for this tiny person. He wraps an arm around her nervously, suddenly afraid she’ll fall off him and hit the floor. You can never be too careful. 

It takes another six minutes before he manages to get up, the baby whining as he moves her to be able to carry her with him into the kitchen. It smells like blueberry pancakes and coffee, and his stomach growls loudly. The growl wakes Gracie up, blinking twice with a yawn before staring at him calmly. She’s still struggling on the food side of things, but Connor’s passion for food, well, eating, is definitely helping. 

“G’morning, Sunny!” He says with a wide grin. His boyfriend turns at the sound of his voice, grinning too. He is off the phone, but has placed it on the table like he’s waiting for them to call back. 

“Good morning!” 

“Was that your parents?” Connor asks, leaning forward to allow Oliver to kiss the top of Gracie’s head before he puts her into her high chair. She yawns loudly. 

“Uh, yeah, they just wanted to hear how it’s going. Then the mailman came and they had to go complain because there was some discount the neighbours’ had gotten but not them, and… yeah. Honestly, I didn’t really get to say much because they had so many questions. They’ll be calling back.” 

“Do you want me to take it?” 

“I would honestly love you a little more if you did. Because I had, like, seventeen new messages from Sarah about what not to feed babies! Which reminds me, I wrote down the things you can’t feed her.” 

“Well, I haven’t heard from my sister in nearly a whole day so she’s probably gonna text me and ask if the kids are still alive sooner or later, so I’ll tell her about that list of yours,” Connor chuckles, bending down to check the cabinet recently re-named Gracie’s. “I’m going to try the avocado thing. Will she survive that?” 

“She’ll survive it, but I’m not sure she’ll like it. Avocado is tricky. I’m over thirty, and I don’t like avocado… Jesus, I’m old,” Oliver spits out in one long sentence, a stressed smile on his face. 

“Y’know what? You do the avocado, so you can calm down. I’ll go wake the other one. Or is he up yet?” 

“I haven’t heard a thing from his room. I checked twice, but it was like ten minutes ago, so you should probably go,” He’s already in the middle of making Grace breakfast, his assigned chore instantly making him a lot calmer. 

***

He walks on light feet towards the kid bedroom, poking the door open enough for him to slip inside. It’s still dark in the room; there’s no windows on this side of the apartment. He turns on the lamp on the nightstand, carefully sitting down on the edge of the bed. At least they’ve gotten that far. The first morning he came to wake him up, the kid was already awake, staring at him before he even managed to get more than a foot into the room. 

“It’s time to wake up,” Connor says softly before wrinkling his nose as he remembers the hearing aids on the nightstand. Right. He gently shakes one of the tiny arms. The little boy turns around and stares at him with sleepy eyes. “Good morning,” He says, slightly louder than usually before grabbing the hearing aids. Brandon lets him put them on, sitting up properly in the bed. “How did you sleep?” 

“Okay,” The light voice replies, rubbing his eyes. He has a bed hair nearly worse than Connor’s; his black curls standing right up, definitely challenging gravity itself. 

“Did you dream about anything nice?” He raises an eyebrow, smiling small. It’s an absolute fact that kids tend to have the most hilarious but spaced out dreams. Brandon looks like he’s thinking it over for a while. 

“I was a popcorn.” 

“What kind of popcorn? Buttered or just salted?” 

“Chocolate!” 

“Chocolate popcorn! That sounds like quite the combo. Very tasty too, you better watch out, or I’ll eat you right up,” He teases, a playful smile on his lips as he tickles Brandon’s stomach. The boy instantly lets out a loud laugh, wriggling underneath his hands. For the first time, he truly understands all the parents he’d met who’d described their child’s laugh as the most amazing thing. But then Brandon stiffens up, the laugh quickly dying away. He stares up at Connor whose smile fades as rubs his lips together. He gets up, slightly unsure what to do next. There’s been a lot of good moments for the last two days but then Brandon seems to remember the journey to where he’s at and he closes up faster than a shy hedgehog. “Oliver’s made pancakes, blueberry. If you hurry getting dressed, he might even bring out the chocolate syrup.” The tiny boy slips out of his bed, walking over to the wardrobe in silence. Connor sees him pick out one of the striped long-sleeved tops just before he leaves the room, a weird feeling in his chest. 

***

By the time he gets back to the kitchen, Oliver is sat on a chair next to Gracie’s high chair; feeding her some mashed avocado mixed with egg yolk. However, she doesn’t look very pleased at all - staring at her father as he holds the plastic spoon in front of her tightly closed mouth. He has a desperate look in his soft brown eyes, silently pleading. But she offers no compromise. 

"200 dollars." Nothing. 

"A cart filled with toys." Nothing. 

"Please try and meet half-way here? I don't like this food any more than you do." Still, nothing. 

"Rice cereal then? I'm on my knees here." Her father lets out a whine, letting go off the spoon to fall to his knees on the floor; unaware of his boyfriend watching with amusement from the doorway. "Please?" The baby in the high chair just stares down at him, a glimpse of curiousity in her dark brown eyes. It’s better than anything; if that little glimpse isn’t a sign, nothing is. He scrumbles to his feet again. "Rise cereal it is." He grabs the jar of soft, light green paste of mashed avocado and the tiny red plastic spoon. Gracie looks relieved as he makes his way over to the counter to get rid of the jar of baby food before moving to the cupboard to find the baby rice cereal. 

"I’m guessing I should find your notebook and write down ‘Gracie strongly dislikes avocado, just like her father’ in big letters, huh?” Connor teases as he finally enters the room fully, a wide grin on his face. It’d taken his boyfriend exactly 19 hours before he was decorating a notebook which he’d given the title “Parenting 101” to put do’s and do not’s in. So far, there was mostly do not’s. 

“At least I tried!” He groans, quickly putting together a bowl of rice cereal; looking around for a peach to go with the cereal. “Is he up yet?” 

“I saw, I saw. And yeah, uh, he’s getting dressed,” Connor said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. It was honestly the first time he’d ever felt so nervous around a five year old, let alone the first time he craved the absolute acceptance of a child. It wasn’t like he’d never loved his nephew and nieces - wether they were his sister’s, in-laws or merely his best friends’ - but it was different. The love for his nephews seems so weak in comparison despite barely a week had gone by. And for each day, it seems to grow. Just realising they are his makes him feel slightly faint. 

“Are you okay?” Oliver’s voice interrupts his line of thought, and he smiles softly. 

“Yeah, I’m great,” He replies, his smiling growing just the slightest as Brandon comes around the corner. He’s wearing a black and orange striped t-shirt and his pajamas bottoms; dark blue with twinkling, golden stars. 

“Good morning! Is your stomach ready and growling for some pancakes?” Oliver grins brightly at the small boy, shaking the bottle of chocolate syrup in his hand. Brandon’s face lights up in a big grin, nodding as he stumbles over. “How many do you want? Two? Five? Eight? Fifteen?” Brandon giggles, climbing up into the chair next to Connor’s, who’s feeding the baby who’s finally accepting the breakfast menu. 

“Only two,” He says, looking quite excited as Oliver flops two pancakes onto his plate. He looks even more excited when they’re more or less drowned in chocolate syrup.


	6. Peach pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Oliver's parents to meet their new grandchildren and he is perhaps a little too worried about how it'll go. At least there'll be peach pie.

“I can’t believe we have been worked up about the party when this is what we should be worried about!” Oliver cries out, looking like a deer caught in the headlights as he forces his way into the bathroom. His arms are tightly wrapped around Gracie, who babbles lively for herself, dressed in what appears to be Connor’s sleep shirt.

“I, uh,” Connor starts, pausing his shaving for a moment to stare at his boyfriend. He puts the razor down, gripping the closest towel he can find to wrap around his lower body. “Do you mind? I’m naked.” 

“Your children will soon have my surname! We've been living together for more than three years! Do you know how many times I have seen your penis? All the places I’ve allowed your penis to touch?” 

“I’m not worried about _you_ , I meant Gracie. Also, why is she wearing my shirt?” 

“She’s eight months. I think she’ll be okay. Besides, she doesn’t seem too interested in your dick any way. Sorry to burst your bubble,” He stops to take a deep breath, his eyebrows furrowing at the sight of the shirt their daughter is dressed in. “I thought I dressed her in her dress. I swear, I did.” 

“Ollie, it’ll go fine.” 

“Will it? Really?” 

“I thought we’d decided to leave the freaking out for when the rest of the family decides to show up; your parents are honestly the least of our worries.” It isn’t that they have strained relationships with any of their family members, not really. But some of them are harder to handle, like Connor’s mother who has decided it is time for them to finally get married (”For the sake of your children!”) and Oliver’s oldest sister can be a little much with her quadraplets, her two year old who refuses to listen to anyone but herself and her husband who just won’t stop playing Candy Crush on his phone. All in all, the easiest to manage is Oliver’s parents who honestly only wants to bring peach pie and engage in toy car races with their grandchildren. At least they used to be. Connor supposes he understands his boyfriend’s slight worry. The whole adoption thing seems to have thrown them off - like they hadn’t understood that the possibility of having grandchildren by Oliver who shares his DNA had been slim from the start. Surrogacy had never really been on the map; perhaps as a last resort. 

“They’re bringing Emma.” 

“Yes, Emma, your sister with the least amount of kids. I consider that lucky. Besides, she’s definitely the most easy going person we could hope for during a first meeting.” Oliver exhales heavily with a somewhat relieved look on his face. 

“That’s a good point. I just… you know they are gonna pressure him into, like, everything. Eat a little more, play more happily.” As usual lately, the topic is Brandon. Brandon, who one moment squeals with laughter as Connor chases him through the living room with carrot sticks for teeth, and in the other, winces at a mere touch on his shoulder. They both feel like it’s only natural; it’s the seventh day of parenthood and the kids are both just settling in. But at the same time, it’s hard not to worry. 

“I told him we’re having peach pie.. made him smile,” Connor says with a shrug. He grabs his electric razor again, buzzing away. It’s been days since he last shaved. Maybe since the day before the arrival. It hasn’t seemed very important lately. But a part of him struggles with the thought of having both too long, messy hair and more than just a little scruff on his chin when Oliver’s parents come over. Four years, and he’s still not properly at ease. He wouldn’t know what to do if either of them declared a dislike in him. 

“Yeah, okay. But we should still worry about the party. It’s in, like, two days.” 

“Michaela texted me and said that Sephy is excited to soon have a friend who is also adopted and you know, she guards the things she values with determination and passion. He’ll be okay. She’ll probably ask him if he wants to hide in the kitchen cupboard and tell riddles. She’s into math riddles at the moment, according to Michaela.” 

“Can you just allow me to freak out about one thing?” Oliver frowns. But he’s unable to stop a big, relieved smile form on his lips. “Mom’s peach pie is pretty good.” 

“Pretty _damn_ good.” 

***

By the time the doorbell rings, Connor glances around the apartment to make sure everything is looking okay and proper, hands shoved into the pockets of his dress pants. Oliver is sort of calm, Gracie is dressed in proper clothing (despite the cute dress, a dark blue body with pink cars all over) and Brandon is on his third carrot; rocking a deep green henley shirt with a pair of mustard-yellow corduroy pants. He almost looks like a tiny Oliver, he thinks with a soft grin on his face. It’s only the glasses missing, really. 

“I think we’re all set,” Connor announces, hurrying over towards the front door. Even if Mrs. Hampton had promised to bring several peach pies, Oliver had used the advantage of early mornings to bake what seemed like an endless supply of cinnamon rolls; all drowned in icing and colourful sprinkles. He’s spent the last twenty minutes being slightly offended that their son would pick carrots over his baked goods. 

“Hey, do you remember if mom claims she’s allergic to diet Coke or regular Coke?” Oliver shouts from the kitchen even if it’s only a few meters away. For the last couple of years, his mother seemed to have wrong suspicious of most things and it was hard to keep up with the things she claimed to be allergic to. Even harder to keep track of the things she stopped being allergic to after a while. 

“Uh…” He starts but it’s too late, his hand is already on the knob, turning it around. 

“Hello, sweetie!” Mrs. Hampton, or Betsy as most people call her; even Connor at this point, exclaims before the door is even properly opened - a big smile on her lips. 

“Congrats!” Her husband and their two youngest children follow up, all smiling too but nobody beating her big smile that reaches her eyes to the point at which they glitter with happiness. Like she didn’t already have enough grandkids. There was already eight of them before they even properly made the decision to try to adopt a child. 

“Cinnamon roll?” Emma’s four year old asks, looking up from her hiding spot in her mother’s neck, sniffing the air. Connor fights back a snort. The resemblance to her uncle is uncanny. 

“Thanks!” The uncle pops up behind Connor, a stressed but goofy smile on his face. “Welcome in! And yes, that is the smell of cinnamon rolls, Aria. We’ve got lots and lots of them.” 

“First things first, where are my grandkids, huh?” Betsy demands, pushing a stack of pies into her son-in-law’s arms as they step inside the apartment. She’s wearing a casual t-shirt and a pair of pants of a soft material; like she’s over to babysit for a week or so. Connor almost starts to worry that she’ll decide to stay a whole week when Oliver’s dad, George, squeezes his shoulder a little rough but mostly affectionately as he gets out of his robe. 

“Relax, Bets. You’re gonna scare ‘em to death,” George laughs with a clucking noise - his whole body seemingly shaking every time he so much as chuckles. He’s probably half-right, Connor realises, and excuses himself to go put the pies on the table. Brandon is standing by the table, a frown on his face as he gazes out into the hallway. He’s anxiously clinging onto the last of his carrot, tiny pieces of orange upon his soft brown skin. 

“I told you they’d bring Aria! You’ll like her. She likes to eat and play with toys. Maybe you can show her some of your new toys.” Like every-fucking-thing wasn’t new to this boy, Connor thinks and sucks briefly on his lower lip in thought as he gets on his son’s level. “If you feel uncomfortable, just come sit in my lap, okay? Then I’ll know and I’ll make sure you only have to think about eating peach pie.” 

“Cinnamon rolls.” 

“Huh?” He’s half-way up to his regular size again, glancing down at the boy in slight confusion. 

“I want cinnamon rolls too. Lots and lots.” Connor can’t stop the grin spreading onto his face, and neither can Brandon stop his. 

“There’s enough cinnamon rolls for us to eat until the next century, so I think you’ll manage your lots and lots,” he says, gently ruffling his hair. 

***

“Oh, hello there, baby,” Betsy coos as her son hands over her newest granddaughter; the baby’s lips curled up into a happy smile with a few teeth poking out here and there, and a pair of glittering brown eyes studying her curiously. “You certainly are a cute one, huh?” Meanwhile, Emma is crouching down next to Brandon with Aria shyly hiding in her arms. Her long black hair is worn in a ponytail which rests on the shoulder of her Nirvana t-shirt. 

“So, Brandon… I heard you like toy cars a lot, so…” She says before pulling a box out of her bag. It contains a set of what seems to be at least eight small race cars in various colours. “If you pull them backwards, you charge them so they can race on their own. They even make some cool noises when they do.” Brandon takes the box slowly, studying it intensively but with a careful grip; like he’s scared of breaking the toys somehow. “Maybe we should try them while the others get the coffee going? What do you think, Aria?” Aria nods, peeking up at her new cousin. Brandon nods too, almost smiling. Slightly shy and still a little too anxious to fully open himself up, he finds himself quite excited. 

“Do you have any color you wanna be?” He asks politely as he carefully hands over the box to his aunt who rips it open like it’s made out of just paper. 

“Can I be purple?” Aria asks, nervously gazing at him. 

“Yeah, sure.” 

***

“She’s such a darling,” Betsy says, pinching Gracie’s cheek lightly. The baby just giggles, kicking with her legs. 

“Looks a little like Adalynn did when she was a baby, doesn’t she?” George adds, studying his wife and youngest granddaughter. Connor stiffens up but attempts to continue with the task of making coffee without a sound. 

“Dad, she doesn’t,” His boyfriend replies instead, in a much nicer tone. That’s when Connor can’t help but open his big, stupid mouth. 

“And she doesn’t have to. It’d be weird if she did, really. She’s adopted but that doesn’t make her any different from, I don’t know, Adalynn? She’s our daughter, as simple as that. Shared genes or not.” 

“Con…,” Oliver says quietly. He’d rather not do this right now, it’s supposed to be a good first meeting between his parents and his children. His mother looks like she’s about to speak when George shakes his head at her. 

“Betsy, don’t. Connor is right,” George says, a frown on his face. “And I don’t want you to think that I’d… treat her any different than my other grandchildren because of it.” 

“We’ll feed her just as much,” Betsy laughs loudly, somewhat breaking the tension. There’s a feeling in the air, like the subject isn’t completely done discussed but nobody wants to go into it further. Not even Connor. He’s been starting to learn not to only priorities himself and his feelings in a way he didn’t have to do when it was just the two of them. “Peach pie, loves!” She shouts, turning slightly to be heard better by the three racing through the living room with their tiny race cars; purple, yellow and blue. 

“Coming!” Emma shouts. Only seconds later, she appears - chased by two small children, giggling; especially the little boy. Both of the boy’s parents feel slightly faint with relief. “I could eat an entire pie,” She adds as she sits down in the seat next to her father, helping her daughter into the chair to her right. 

“You wish!” Betsy snorts, already starting to cut up pieces of pie to everyone after quickly handing over Gracie to her fathers. “But perhaps if your brother eats as little as he usually do when it’s my peach pie.” 

“Mom!” Oliver exclaims, like she has just told them about the time she caught him jerking off to a picture of Fabio Lanzoni when he was fourteen - or the time she discovered he’d hidden all the coleslaw he claimed to have eaten underneath the kitchen rug when he was seven. He still isn’t sure which story was the worst to have her tell. “I have nothing against your peach pie.” 

“Your appetite when it’s served sure says somethin’ else.” 

“It’s okay, Ollie. Admit it. It’ll just leave more for me,” His sister shrugs, drowning her pie under a pile of sweetened whipped cream. 

“So, are you excited for school?” George asks suddenly, perhaps to avoid a blood bath between his two children, glancing over at Brandon. Brandon, in return, looks confused; his brows furrowing together. “You’re five, aren’t you?” Brandon nods. 

“We haven’t enrolled him yet. We’re planning to go next week, actually,” Connor says, taking a much needed sip of his coffee. He makes a mental note to apologise to his boyfriend for claiming this visit would be the easiest thing they’d ever do; he’s just never been that studied by Oliver’s parents before. He supposes it’s different when you’re not just son and son-in-law but parents to their grandchildren. 

“Wouldn’t it be better to go now? He’ll end up missing half the semester.” 

“It probably could have been but we made the decision that it wasn’t.” 

“What Connor is saying is that a few days isn’t much, we’re still doing some adjusting…,” Oliver butts in, glancing over at his son who gazes back at him. “Just taking the first few days as they come.” 

“Have you at least gotten him some proper school stuff? Like, extra clothes? Rain clothes? Name tags? Multiple gloves and hats in case he forgets one or two? A schoolbag?” 

“Uh, no… that’s what we’re doing Sunday. I figured he’d want to pick out his own bag.” 

“You did always like picking out your own schoolbag,” Betsy says, smiling, with a nostalgic look on her face. “Like, that NSYNC bag. I quite liked that one too.” 

“You had one?” Connor gasps, his entire face a grin as he turns to his boyfriend. His boyfriend, in turn, is tomato red and stuttering. 

“I… well, I.. Yes!” 

“It was hardly the only NSYNC thing you had. I could barely get him to change his bed set after he got one of theirs for Christmas!” His mother laughs loudly, earning a chuckle from both his dad and sister too. 

“I can’t believe you’re surprised,” Emma smirks at her brother-in-law. 

“I’m not surprised, really, I’m more happy my suspicion turns out to be right.” He grins so wide and smugly that Oliver considers throwing his piece of pie in his face. He doesn’t, though. For the children’s sake. 

***

“That went fine, didn’t it?” He asks many hours later when they are in bed, all lights already turned off. Gracie is sleeping soundly against his torso; they both knows she probably should learn to sleep on her own but it’s hard to leave her alone in that crib nearly three rooms away. Sometimes he even finds it hard leaving Brandon alone in his room for so many hours. He feels so far away, like anything can happen. Like they are too far away to save him if he has a nightmare or if something else bad happens. But at least there’s the baby, nuzzled into his side. 

“Yeah, I think it did.” He can almost hear the smile forming on Connor’s lips. “I mean…” He doesn’t finish the sentence but they both know what he means by it. “It was fun. I think we all enjoyed it. Brandon really liked those cars. Gracie is still skeptical about that doll your folks gave her, but she might come around. It was kind of cute.” 

“They’ve given one to every "female" granchild,” Oliver rolls his eyes. “I guess it’s cute, I just…” 

“Why be so stiff when it comes to gender roles?” 

“Exactly.” There’s a peaceful silence as they both smile for themselves; not because of their parents’ stereotypical gender thinking but because they realise they’ve reached the point where they can complete each other sentences. Oliver is just about to open his mouth and suggest they make it official and with that, legal - hell, they’re practically married in every other way - when the bedroom door opens and a small figure comes tiptoeing towards the bed. 

“I had a bad dream,” Their son’s light but sleepily voice explains. He sounds a little bit unsure, like he isn’t sure if this is okay. But Connor sits up, turning the light on. He shoots his boyfriend a smirk before turning his attention back to the small boy, wearing his Toy Story pajamas, with an anxious face on his tiny face. 

“Come here. I’ll tell you about the time your dad accidentally put his foot in the toilet,” He says. 

“Connor! You said you wouldn’t tell,” Oliver exclaims, fighting the urge to slap his boyfriend’s shoulder as punishment for his big mouth. But at the same time, it’s more than fine. Especially when Brandon crawls into the bed, cuddling up inbetween them next to Gracie under the duvet. He has one of the Ninja Turtles plushies under his arm. It isn’t the first time he gets the feeling that they are his but for the first time, they truly feel like a family - all cuddled up in bed together. It beats most other feelings and he never wants to it to go away. He’s never felt more ready to spend the rest of his life as a parent as he does when Brandon dares to nuzzle into Connor the way Gracie has nuzzled into Oliver, and the story of Oliver’s toilet-stepping nightmare begins. 

“Well, you see. Your dad had just…”


	7. Banana Split

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Asher's daughter's party which instead of introducing everyone to the new Hampton-Walsh family; Connor remains home with Brandon to bond over cartoons as Oliver struggles to arrive on time with a baby whose new interest involves kicking.

He’s muttering as he tries to unbuckle the babbling baby from the barely one day old baby seat. They spent a good hour last night trying to learn how to effectively buckle and unbuckle the straps, but it is still a work in progress. It doesn’t help but that he’s totally half an hour late, if not more, and that the other half of the family is still at home.

“I can’t unbuckle you if you keep kicking me,” Oliver mutters, trying to keep Gracie’s feet still with one hand while unbuckling her with the other. It is slow but soon, she’s free. She coos as he lifts her up, bringing her out into the fresh air. It’s the middle of November and hardly a warm day by most standards but the sky is bright blue and there’s not a lick of snow on the ground. Gracie is comfortably wrapped up in not just a bright green overall but a soft grey jumpsuit with a print of pale pink vales swimming about with bubbles escaping their mouths. It’s perhaps not much of a birthday outfit but in her defense, she’s nine months old. She’s a baby, not a fashion model. Yeah, that’s a good one. He’ll use that one on Asher’s wife if she comments it. No, _when_ she comments it. 

“Oliver!” Michaela is the first grown up he sees as he slides into the backyard, after following the birthday signs. He’s thankful it’s her and hurries over. 

“Hi,” He says, re-gripping Gracie as he tries to shake away the remains of stress bubbling. 

“This must be Gracie, huh?” She smiles wide, reaching out to bop the baby’s tiny button nose. Gracie lets out a loud, warm laugh. “Oh, you’re cute.” 

“You’re welcome to take her. She threw up over not one but two of my shirts before we left.” 

“Mmm. I do not miss having a baby. Where’s Connor and Brandon?” Michaela glances towards the gate behind Oliver with a curious, excited look. 

“They aren’t coming.” 

“What? Why?” The excited look is completely replaced by sincere disappointment. 

“He’s only been with us for a little more than a week. He, uh…” Oliver licks his lips, sighing softly as he remembers the morning’s dramatic events. “He wanted to come but it was a little bit too much. I promised to bring home some cake, though.” 

“Well, everyone’s been pretty excited for you guys to come. They’re inside, getting ready for the cake.” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

“You got this, Oliver. Just a few minutes of overwhelming questions and I’ll come over with a perfect excuse to move on,” She offers a comforting smile. Personally, she’d enjoyed all the attention she’d been getting during Sephy’s first months. But Oliver looks too pale even at the thought of it, and besides, she wants to get to know the baby before the others anyway. 

***

The apartment feels gigantic without Oliver and Gracie around. He tries, but can’t remember a single time he’s been home without them around. Hell, he’s barely able to remember a time when he’s got to take his time in the bathroom for the last week. But he’s not alone today either; Brandon is sitting next to him, his gaze glued to the television set. Connor still has a feeling it’s gonna be a long process before they look like one of those families in the commercials, but so far, he’s able to write a list of at least five shows that makes Brandon nearly buzz with excitement. Right now it’s Dino Dan and some kids are trying to catch a dinosaur in the wild west. Perhaps not the most realistic show but somewhat educational and brings out the twinkle in Brandon’s eyes. Connor finds himself looking at him more than at the TV. 

They’re still both dressed for the party. It feels weird to wear such formal clothes again; the last week has felt like an eternity, mostly in good ways, and it’s mostly been wornout jeans and henley shirts. He’d forgotten how much he missed wearing clothes like that. But he doesn’t really dare leaving Brandon alone in the living room. It’s pathetic, he knows, but he can’t shake the worries about the little boy suddenly disappearing within the few minutes he’s out of Connor’s sight. 

“What do you say about having some lunch, huh?” He asks as the show finally comes to its end. Brandon shrugs. “I don’t speak shrugish.” Brandon shrugs again. “We could…” He sucks on his lower lip in thought, gazing into the air as he considers their options. Getting up to cook something from scratch doesn’t feel very exciting. And even though he isn’t one for the kind of junk food that really looks like it deserves the name… “Would it be okay to go outside for a bit?” Brandon tenses up next to him. “Just a short walk, I promise. There and back again. It’ll be quick.” 

“Where?” Brandon asks, nuzzling into the pillow on the side of the sofa that’s nearly larger than himself, glancing over at Connor - who can’t help but notice the curiousity in his eyes. 

“Mmm, I was thinking Dairy Queen. But there’s also a Jack in the Box almost right next to it. But Dairy’s got this nice banana split that Jack doesn’t…” 

“I wanna go to Dairy Queen,” Brandon announces, sitting up in the sofa. 

“Okay, but banana split is _dessert_ ,” Connor says, followed by a soft laugh as Brandon’s shoulders sags just the slightest. “I doubt their burgers will disappoint you in any way.” 

***

It feels like every person at the birthday flocks around Oliver as they walk into the house; all wanting to see the new addition. Except Wes and Rebecca who seems to want to respect their private space, or maybe they’re just too busy trying to get their youngest daughter to stop trying to grab a fistful of cake when she thinks nobody is looking. 

“That is one cute baby,” Asher says, a big smile on his face, as he gives her cheek a pinch. Gracie looks a bit surprised but as always, returns the smile. 

“I saw your post on facebook but it’s such a difference meeting a baby in real life. You didn’t post any pictures either, did you?” He thinks her name is Pamela. She’s at least married to some lawyer collegue to Connor and the gang. She vaguely reminds him of fresh, juicy salad. She must be the kind they usually grab a bite with, or at least used to. 

“No, uh, not yet…” Oliver fumbles, trying to answer her question as a man he thinks is her husband asks another. 

“Grace, right?” 

“Yeah. Gracie sometimes.” 

“Gracie. Such a cute name.” 

“Oh, it is. Our second’s middle name is Grace. John just wouldn’t let go of the name Josephine, so she became Josephine Grace.” 

“Didn’t you adopt two babies?” Another one asks. 

“Brandon’s five. He’s… at home.” 

“Aw, is he sick?” Oliver is suddenly really glad Brandon wanted to stay home. He wants him to meet the gang but not like this, not with all the other people around. He wonders if he was ever like this, pre-parenting whenever someone he knew had a baby. Probably. Mentally, he apologies to all of them. 

“Yeah, he is.” 

“All right, let’s allow the baby some space,” Laurel interrupts as she suddenly appears next to them. “Asher, I am pretty sure Victoria is gonna cut her cake without anyone watching if we don’t get to it now, anyway, so…” 

“Let’s watch my baby girl cut her My Little Pony cake!” Asher announces, hurrying off towards the kitchen. He’s followed by most of the party’s guests. 

“They were right about one thing,” Rebecca says as she walks over. “She is cute.” 

“Thanks,” Oliver says with a proud smile on his lips. He lets his gaze drop to the baby in his arms, blowing spit bubbles as she coos for herself against his shoulder. 

“I wanted to meet Brandon,” Sephy says, her voice heavy with disappointment. “You said he would come.” 

“I did, I know. But guess what? You can come over and play with him whenever you want. We’ll even come pick you up.” 

“Okay, but I’ve got school first.” 

“After school,” Oliver confirms with a nod. She nods back before hurrying off to get her hands on some cake. Michaela remains by his side. She refuses to look at either him or Gracie but it’s obvious what she wants. “Do you want to hold her?” Michaela turns to him with a perfectly faked surprised look on her face. 

“Me? Oh, sure. I’d love to,” She says, nearly taking the baby out of his arms before he’s able to hand her over properly. 

***

It’s a good day to be outside. Especially as the slight cold air means it’s definitely time for jackets. The light blue shell jacket covers up the god awful polo shirt Brandon picked out (a gift from Oliver’s parents) with skateboards printed all over in white and soft green. Sure, the jacket has a printed pattern too; a treasure map with pirate ships and islands and whatnot but compared to the polo shirt… it’s like the newest Michael Kors collection. He tries to tell himself Brandon is only five, which is sort of working. The fact that he looks extremely pleased with his new clothes works even better. It’s hard to stop smiling for himself as they walk down the street. Just a month ago, who would’ve thought he’d be walking to a fast food restaurant with a child? His child. Almost. It’s hard to stop thinking about him that way, just as hard as it is to allow himself to do so. It’s only a test. And if it goes well, it’s still gonna take time before the adoption even goes through. If it goes through. 

“We need to cross the road now,” Connor warns, stopping at the end of the pavement. “It’s a big road so I need you to hold my hand. Can you do that?” Brandon nods. He reaches his tiny hand up, and Connor takes it in his own. It’s such a small, soft hand. It feels weird in his own grown, slightly rough hand. An overwhelming rush of anxiety rushes through him. Anxiety mingled tightly with some of kind of joy he has never felt before. He looks to the left and right twice as many times as he usually does before they hurry across the road. “Don’t tell him we did that. He doesn’t like it when I don’t use actual crosswalk.” It’s hard to figure out if he’s supposed to say Oliver, or dad, or papa or… But Brandon seems to understand who he means as he giggles. 

“Here we are,” He announces as they stand in front of Dairy Queen. “You’re sure you don’t want to eat at Jack’s?” 

“Banana split," Brandon reminds him. 

“Right, right, got it.” They step inside, thankfully arriving at a time when there’s not too many other customers waiting to order. It barely takes three minutes before the couple infront of them are finished, heading towards a table at the other side of the restaurant. “Okay, um. We want a kids’ meal…” He starts, furrowing his eyebrows together. “Have you ever had Dairy Queen before?” He asks, glancing down at Brandon who shakes his head. “Okay, so. What’s in a kids’ meal?” 

“First you get to pick your entree. There’s chicken strips, cheeseburger and hot dog,” The teenage boy says, glancing back at the menu board as to confirm his words. There’s a sharp tug at Connor’s jacket. He glances down at Brandon who, in turn, stares up at him. 

“What do you want, bud?” Brandon tugs two times fast. He tries not to let out a sigh as he gets on the boy’s level, who cups his hands around Connor’s ear. 

“Cheeseburger,” He whispers into it. Connor glances up at the teenage boy. He can’t help but feel a bit embarrassed at the fact that he’s nearly sitting on the floor of a fast food restaurant like this. But the teenage boy doesn’t react at all, if he even notices. At the same time, it fills him with a warm, buzzing feeling to know that Brandon seems to feel safe with him. At least more safe than all these random strangers at Dairy Queen, sure, but still… 

“Cheeseburger,” Connor confirms. 

“Okay, and I guess you want fries with that?” Connor glances at Brandon who nods. 

“Yeah, we do.” 

“The standard drink is milk but it can be replaced with a small soda of your choosing.” 

“Do you want milk or soda?” 

“Milk,” Brandon says quietly, letting go of Connor’s jacket. 

“We’re okay with milk.” 

“One kids’ meal with burger, fries and milk. Anything else?” 

“Yeah, uh,” Connor shuffles to his feet, rubbing the back of his neck in thought. “I want a Mushroom Swiss Grillburger with fries and a large Diet Coke. Also a banana split. To go, please.” 

“All right. That’ll be 14,57, please.” 

***

The cake is, to no one’s surprise, amazing. It’s tall, inspired by the rainbow - there’s one layer, each at least a few inches thick, for each colour. Every layer has a distinct flavour, strawberry for the red layer and pear for the green. It’s supposed to be a complete trainwreck but it works surprisingly well. Oliver finds himself taking a second helping. At least he does so after requesting two slices to take home to his boys at home. There’s a small smile on his lips as he muses over how Brandon’s eyes will twinkle excitedly at the sight of the pony on his slice. 

“That’s Pinkie Pie,” Wes and Rebecca’s youngest, Nolan, informs him. “She has a gingerbread house!” He shrieks, his three year old tongue barely managing to pull off the r’s. 

“Her name is actually Pinkamena Diane Pie,” Nolan’s sister, Maya, quickly adds. “I like Applejack better because she’s got a lasso. But I got Fluttershy and she’s also okay.” 

“I got Twilight Sparkle. She’s _amazing_ ,” Sephy butts in, a dreamy look on her face. 

“Nica also got Twilight Sparkle,” Nolan says with a frown. 

“There’s more than one of each pony, Nolan,” Maya rolls her eyes. “So everyone gets one!” 

“Oh. Gracie?” 

“She’s too tiny to have cake, sadly. At least her own slice. She had some of the apple cake, and she wouldn’t stop licking her lips.” 

“I liked apples too!” 

“Pineapples made me cry,” Maya says very seriously, sighing softly. “Mama promised me her pineapple but she’s so slow. All she does is talk, and no eatin’.” 

“She’s probably just enjoying it,” Oliver says, chuckling. “It was very good, makes you wish it could last forever.” 

“I’m gonna invent everlasting cake.”' 

“Please do, Sephy.” 

***

They’re both on the living room floor, stomachs about to burst open if they so much as move a finger. The satisfied silence is broken by Connor who sighs deeply. 

“That was good, huh?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Told you.” 

The silence returns. Connor thinks that maybe in half an hour, he’ll be okay to move. Not that he has much choice. The TV is still on and it’ll announce Bob the Builder in less than thirty minutes and that’ll have Brandon jumping even if it’ll cause an exploding tummy. He guesses there are worse ways to go. 

“Connor?” Brandon’s soft voice breaks the silence yet again. 

“Yeah, bud?” 

“Can we go there again?” 

Connor grins. 

“Absolutely.”


	8. School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Brandon's first day of school. He isn't very excited. At all.

For nearly two weeks, the daily challenge has been to get Brandon to at least nod or shake his head, trying to expose him to a variety of things to get him to feel more comfortable and easy in his new home with his new family. _Two weeks_. And apparently, it’d taken like two minutes if only they’d thought about bringing him to the grocery shop.

“Look at all these cookies!” Brandon coos, his eyes big as he studies all the different cookies lined up in front of him. His rubber boots screech every time they meet the floor but he doesn’t seem to even hear it - or notice the way Connor cringes each time. He’s too busy taking in the cookie aisle which is just one of many stops. “Those have Sam on ‘em!” He suddenly shouts. “He’s Captain America’s friend. He’s funny.” He reaches up to gently touch Sam’s face on the package, followed by what Connor thinks is a _Hello, Mister Sam_.

“You like him?” Connor asks, a soft smile on his lips, even though he has no idea what the kid’s talking about. He never really got into comics. There’s a line. Tolkien’s fine. Comics are just too nerdy. “Why don’t we check if they’ve got like, uh, a toy instead?” It’s the hard choices. To let the kid be materialistic or give up on the healthy food two weeks in? The toy’s the better choice, right? He’s pretty sure it is. During his daily new but responsible parent hour before bed time, he read up all about what kind of junk there truly is in junk food. Even poptarts. They’re hard to give up though, so breakfast became poptarts and carrot sticks. It wasn’t too bad. It’s all about compromise. Right? 

“I just like his face,” Brandon shrugs, already strutting down the aisle, heading towards the next one. 

“Hey, buddy! We’ve got a list to stick to!” Connor says loudly, waving the shopping list in his hand. Oliver wrote it so it’s neat and written in his special shopping list notebook. Not surprisingly, recently bought within the last two weeks. It’s strangely cute, and somehow makes his heart beat a little faster. He honestly never would’ve thought he could fall in love with someone based on their parenting. But it was definitely happening a lot lately. Despite the lack of privacy for the last two weeks, he felt like he’s never loved, or appreciated, Oliver as much as he has lately. There’s no other person he’d rather do this with. Even though it means having a special notebook for shopping lists. “We’ve got, uh… oatmeal, flour… hey, maybe we can do like… oatmeal cookies.” 

“Can we make them like Sam’s face?” Brandon asks as he stops right at the end of the cookie aisle, looking back at Connor. 

“Oh, I don’t know, bud,” He starts, but pauses as he notices Brandon’s reaction. “But we can see if they have any other cool baking stuff. Maybe dinosaur baking trays? I bet they have some of those.” 

“Okay.” That is enough to get him to tag along towards the grains aisle, seemingly pretending his treasure map jacket is an airplane. He doesn’t seem aware of the small sounds he’s making, and Connor has a hard time not smiling as he fills their cart with more oatmeal than he’s ever had in his nearly thirty years of life so far. But Oliver made it clear to follow the list - there’s even a note on it to remind him to do so. It is followed by quite a few exclamation marks. 

“We’ll be able to make so many cookies with all this oatmeal.” 

“Ten?” 

“Oh, many more than just ten.” Brandon gasps, his eyes big and twinkling with excitement as he looks up at Connor. 

“Ten thousand!” He shouts in a high-pitched voice, putting his hands up. He blinks with his finger, as if trying to count to ten thousand, so many times Connor swears he’s half-way to being hypnotized. 

“Maybe somewhere between ten and ten thousand.” 

“I don’t know what that is, I’m only five,” Brandon frowns, looking down on his fingers with a puzzled look on his face. 

“Touché,” Connor mutters, moving down the aisle to grab the flour before moving on; they’ve got quite a few more things on that list. 

“What does that mean?” 

“It means you got me.” He swears, there’s a hint of a smile on Brandon’s lips at that. “And that also means there will be _two_ oatmeal cookies in your lunch box tomorrow,” He adds with a grin, but he regrets it instantly. Brandon looks like he was just offered dead rats for lunch box treats. 

“I don’t wanna go,” He says quietly, joylessly playing with his jacket. Connor sighs softly, shoving the shopping notebook into the pocket of his coat before getting on Brandon’s level. 

“I know it can see real scary, but guess what? You gotta go to school to become real smart. Like your daddy!” He says, playfully bopping Brandon’s nose. “He doesn’t wear those glasses for nothing.” 

“Do I get glasses if I go to school?” 

“Well, uh… no. You got me there too,” He says, biting hard down his lower lip as he struggles to find the right words to assure him it’ll be okay. That’s when he realises he isn’t even certain it will be. When he was Brandon’s age, he loved going to school to play with friends and learn. But he was also definitely the kind who picked on kids like Brandon. It makes him angry, and he struggles to contain it as he glances around the aisle. He very much doubts that bullies have stopped being a thing but it feels worse knowing he used to be one of those kids. He thinks back at those kids he picked on in elementary school, and he can see Brandon in all of them. “I…,” He starts, licking his lips nervously as he forces his gaze back to Brandon. “It’s gonna be scary at first, and you’ll probably meet some mean kids. But you know what you do then? If they say something mean, you go tell your teacher right away. If they touch you, you punch back. But you probably won’t have to even think about that because you’ll be too busy trying to play with all the nice kids who wanna be your friend. Because you’re awesome. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Brandon says, barely a whisper. Connor nods, reaching his hand out for a high five. But instead of a high five, a tiny set of arms wrap around his neck as the five year old throws himself at Connor, hugging him tightly. Connor lets out a choked noise, somewhere inbetween a sob and a chuckle, as he hugs him back. 

***

“The point with the list was to not have to buy lunchables,” Oliver groans loudly as he unpacks the grocery bags. He is practically shaking the lunchable box in Connor’s face.

“Yeah, I know, but…” Connor sighs just as loudly. “I wanted him to have something to look forward to. You didn’t see him at the store. He looked _crushed_.” 

“I don’t blame him. Elementary school sucks.” 

“Oliver!” 

“What? It’s true,” Oliver said, rolling his eyes. “I guess a deep dish pizza isn’t the worst, at least you didn’t get the nachos one. But did they really have to include Kool-Aid and cookies and Cheez-It?” 

“I’m pretty sure he chose it for the Kool-Aid and Cheez-It. It also comes with water!” 

“Yeah, for the Kool-Aid drink mix! Water doesn’t count if you mess it up with artificial sugary drinks.” 

“Look, the day after tomorrow we’ll send him off with rice and chicken tikka masala with more vegetables than chicken. But, Oliver.. he needs this.” Oliver looks at him for a long time before sighing deeply. 

“Fine. You’re right, you’re right,” He says, going back to unpacking the bag. “I haven’t forgotten what elementary school was like, or the first day of it. I just… don’t want to be that parent who sends his kid off with the unhealthy stuff every day.” He bites his lip in thought before adding, “You should have gotten a snack pack too.” 

“Yeah, uh, it’s in the other bag,” Connor murmurs, running a hand through his hair as he purposely ignores Oliver’s stare. But it’s followed by a gasp, one that makes it impossible for him to look away any longer. 

“You got him the _Dirt Cake snack pack_? But you didn’t buy me one?” The last time he saw Oliver this offended was when someone called Princess Leia Organa ‘simple audience eye candy’. Connor snorts loudly, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. It’s nice to know some things haven’t changed despite their new roles as parents. 

“I got you one too. You just gotta dig deeper into the bag.” 

* * *

“Exciting day, huh?” Oliver flashes Brandon a big, bright smile as the five year old enters the kitchen - a five year old who looks anything but excited. He’s cute in his new outfit, a dark blue long-sleeved top with a print of a Brachiosaurus and some quick Brachiosaurus facts with a pair of slim black jeans, but it’s hard to enjoy his cuteness with that sincere sad look on his face. It hurts to recognise himself so much in Brandon in that moment. He doesn’t want those school experiences for his son. He wants him to make friends, and have a smile on his face when he leaves for school. It’ll be hard enough without hating it.

“I made you some Disney pancakes to celebrate! Who do you wanna eat the most? Cinderella or Mickey Mouse? We got so many toppings. Whipped cream with sprinkles, syrup, bananas, blueberries…” Brandon just shrugs, climbing up into his chair. “Well, I think Cinderella with whipped cream and bananas is a very good start of the day.” Brandon shrugs again as Oliver places a plate in front of him. He eats his Cinderella pancake in silence, taking his time as if it could somehow take up so much time he won’t be able to go to school. 

***

“I hate this, I hate this, I hate this,” Oliver says, pacing around the living room in the same manner he has done for the last two hours. Connor sighs quietly, glancing up at him. Gracie merely coos as she attacks one of her toys with her new, sharp teeth. “I wanna go back there and get him. Two hours is enough, right? Why does he have to be there for so long on his first day?”

“We’re literally picking him up in another two hours, Ollie. We’ve gone half-way, it’s better to just let him finish the day.” 

“But what if he’s suffering? He barely talks to us, do you really think he’d tell a teacher? What if someone is mean and he just runs off? Maybe they’re currently on a man hunt for him.” 

“I think they’d call if he was missing. Besides, I told him that if someone punches him, he’s allowed to punch back.” 

“You did what?” Oliver gasps, freezing mid-step to stare at his boyfriend. 

“What else would I say? Lay on the ground until they stop punching you?” Connor snorts. “He’s not you.” 

“Not me?” Oliver lets out a loud, joyless laugh. “I’m going to ignore that because I’m too anxious to deal with it but I’d like to remind you that he’s not you either. Or perhaps you would rather have him throw the first punch? Like you used to do?” 

“Ollie…,” He tries, licking his lips nervously. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean it like that.” But Oliver just waves him off. It’s a fight for another time. 

“I’m gonna go make some carrot sticks and apple slices for when he gets home. So it won’t just be dirt cake for afternoon snacks.” 

***

They wait in the car, buzzing with anxiety. They’re quite early, and Connor almost expects someone to think they’re trying to pick a child to kidnap. But finally, the bell rings and a crowd of kids stream out of the school building.  
“Should we get out and get him? Does he remember what our car looks like?” Oliver says, shifting in his seat in an attempt to get a better look at the sea of children.

“No, I see him, I see him!” Connor exclaims, pointing over towards a group of three, four children. Brandon’s treasure map jacket isn’t hard to spot, and he’s passionately talking to the other kids. Considering their looks, Connor assumes it’s something on the nerdy side of things. 

“Oh my god. Oh my god. What do we do? Do we honk the horn? Do we let them talk? Do we go out and get him?” Oliver asks, his voice almost high-pitched. As he recieves no answer, he slaps his boyfriend’s arm. “Connor!” 

“I don’t know!” 

“He saw us!” 

“It’s our child, not Boy George. _Relax_.” 

“He’s coming this way! He is waving goodbye, they’re waving goodbye, he’s ope— Hey, buddy!” 

“Hi,” Brandon says, a big smile on his face as he climbs into his car seat. 

“How was the lunchable?” Connor asks, flashing him a grin as he leans back to make sure he’s buckled up correctly. 

“It was good. Wayne taught me to sprinkle cookie crumbs over the pizza. It was all crunchy and delicious.” Connor ignores the look he knows Oliver is giving him. 

“Is Wayne a friend?” Brandon nods. “He sounds like a fun friend.” Brandon nods again. 

“Did you make any other friends?” Oliver asks, glancing back at him with a soft smile. It’s been a long time since he’s felt this relieved, or this warm and fuzzy over a simple smile. It feels so good to see him smile. He certainly deserves it. 

“Uh huh. Grayer and Tamika and Charlie.” 

“Oh, wow. Mister Popular!” Oliver teases. Brandon giggles, eyes bright and glittering. 

“Let’s go home and celebrate with some snacks, yeah?” Connor suggests; and he isn’t sure which of his two boys shouts the loudest at that.


	9. Still here

“How do you get grown up?” Brandon asks, bits of pancake and Nutella not only completely filling his mouth, threatening to leak out onto the table, but also all over his face; a face with a somehow thoughtful look despite the mess. 

“Uh, you… grow?” Connor tries, perhaps a bit surprised by the question, and certainly far from prepared; almost choking on the coffee he just drank as his tired, tired eyes glances over at his son. 

“Grayer says you can eat candy all the time if you are a grew up.”

“And Nutella is…?” Oliver counters, raising an eyebrow at Brandon who giggles, while Connor rolls his eyes with a loud scoff. 

“Nutella is barely chocolate.” Then he rolls his eyes again – this time at himself. It’s ridiculous how much he’s let himself go. Nutella is barely chocolate? Just a few months ago, he considered carrots a luxury weekend snack. Parenthood had truly changed his view on sugar, and how vital it is to get through a whole day without a) crying, b) falling asleep at work or even c) which is both, but not at the same time. _Yet_. 

“It’s breakfast,” Brandon settles for, innocently battering his eyes at his more skeptical father. Gracie coos in agreement, shaking her tiny maraca with her Nutella-covered hand.

“I no longer feel guilty about packing carrot and spinach lasagne for lunch,” is what Oliver settles for in return, shaking his head; though his coffee mug doesn’t do a very good job at hiding the smirk on his face. Then again, it is barely ever not there. Even when making enough carrot and spinach lasagne for an entire football team. Maybe especially then. The pumpkin seeds really do give it that little extra deliciousness. 

“You’re completely irresistible when you talk like that,” Connor winks at him, getting up from his seat at the table while finishing his coffee in a large slurp. “I’m taking the musician for a quick wash… and you’re next in line, buddy! Enjoy that mess while it lasts.” 

Brandon just giggles, hurrying to finish his pancakes. Not necessarily because he’s fond of the washing up part, not like his fathers seem to be, but because that means that brushing his teeth is coming up, and after that, it’s time to go to school. That’s where his friends are. And his dads picked him up in the middle of a battle between Darth Maul, Batman and Buzz Lightyear yesterday. He can’t wait to get back to see Wayne… and win the battle, of course. Buzz Lightyear always wins. Even if Wayne and Tamika say otherwise. Darth Maul is evil, everyone knows that, and Batman is just a grump because that’s what Oliver says. Oliver is always right. But sometimes Connor is righter. Especially when it comes to candy. Then Connor is rightest of them all. 

Daddy Connor, of course. It’s funny to call him that, kind of like they’re supposed to call the teacher Miss Betty or even Teacher Betty. Like, duh. Doesn’t everyone know that anyway? But it’s trickier at home. Because sometimes Brandon only says Miss Teacher and Miss Betty pops up right away but sometimes he shouts ‘daddy’ and daddy Connor shows up even though it’s really, really, really obvious he’s calling for Daddy Oliver. They’re weird like that. But that’s okay. He’s weird too. That’s what Sephy says. But she also says weird is okay. Tanner at school doesn’t think so, but Charlie bit his finger last time so he’s not really saying that a lot now. Charlie has really sharp and pointy teeth. He wants to be a shark when he grows up. He’s gonna be good, Brandon thinks. No. He knows. He’s never seen a shark but there’s no way they have sharper teeth than Charlie. No way. 

Even Daddy Connor agrees. Charlie showed him his teeth and Daddy Connor gave him thumps up. He said it was for the bite, but if he didn’t have his teeth than the bite would’ve been like Gracie’s nibbles. But… sometimes she does nibble hard. It’s not very nice. But it’s also not a shark bite like Charlie can give. Brandon has to remember to bring his Shark t-shirt before they go. Because Tanner comes back today, because the bite made him ill but now he’s back. He’s pretty sure only Charlie’s bites can keep him away. He looked really mad. Perhaps too mad even for Charlie with his shark teeth, so he needs to be not just Charlie, but Charlie-shark. Brandon doesn’t have very sharp teeth at all, so it’d be unfair to keep something vital for Charlie for himself without even having sharp teeth, let alone wanting to be a shark one day. He’s going to be a Jedi, and he’s never seen a shark Jedi, so he doesn’t really want to risk it. He doesn’t think daddy Connor and daddy Oliver would like it either. He wants them to like him. Because he likes it here. But if he does that, maybe they won’t want him anymore. Sometimes he worries about that enough anyway. All the time. 

“Brandon, I’m not going to tell you again! You’ve got chocolate all up to your forehead!” Daddy Oliver shouts as Daddy Connor tries to get Gracie into a fresh diaper. It’s hard because she keeps smacking him with the maraca. Brandon doesn’t get how she can just do that, like she doesn’t even worry what will happen. Maybe because Daddy Connor just laughs, more and more with each smack. Because they like her. He wonders how she knows, because he wants to know how to know that they like him. He doesn’t think reading bedtime stories count, because that’s what all the daddies before them did too. Perhaps sharking is the only way. If they like him anyway, that’ll be ok. He doesn’t want to think about what else could happen. It won’t this time. But that’s what he said last time too.


End file.
